Oregon daily emerald., March 05, 1981, Section B, Image 9

A Big Night on the town. . .
Stepping into DeFrisco’s,
the Oregon Repertory Theatre
and Lenny’s Nosh Bar
A Big Night on the Town in Eugene seemed almost
an absurd concept to a couple of folks from big cities
back east.
Maybe even a joke. But this is how it was. Mickey was
born, raised and cultured in the wild and windy city of
Chicago, while I was busy learning all about life in our
nation's capital. Both of them, big, dirty, smelly cities,
full of filth and pollution and crime, and on and on.
And culture. Plays, movies, topless discos (that’s
where you went when you were 17, male, and all you
had for I.D. was an ultra-fake pseudo draft card with a
name like Brian McAdams stamped crookedly below
your Woolworth’s photo booth mug-shot), and all kinds
of rock concerts.
There was too much to do back there, back then.
But we were so much younger then; we’re older —
and more (gasp!) conservative? — than that now. Now
we live in Eugene.
Our tastes — our demands from a cultured society —
have gradually changed over the years. These days
Mickey and I are happy to merely get jollied at Taylor's
on a Friday afternoon, and maybe catch a blurry movie
in 180 PLC. We spend a lot more time in the out-of
doors, skiiing, climbing, drinking wine on top of
Spencer’s Butte.
That's what living in Oregon is all about.
Which is why, to us, the concept of "Night Out on the
Town" in Eugene seemed so preposterous.
Our scheduled evening of affairs was not to begin
until 9 p.m., so we spent the first part of Friday evening
sloshing down beers at the newly-reopened Taylor's.
Then we drifted over to 180 PLC to catch Tommy, but,
could only watch it for about 45 minutes before we felt
uninspired enough to leave.
So much for our big plans for a normal Friday night.
Now it was time for the Emerald’s.
A “big night" in this case also means long night. The
centerpiece of the evening would be the Midnight Mafia
play at the Oregon Repertory Theatre. Not to begin,
accordingly, until midnight.
So what can people do while waiting to see an ORT
play? Why, stop in at DeFrisco’s, of course. After all, it’s
just downstairs.
We wanted to grab a bite to eat, so we were fortunate
to walk into DeFrisco’s a few minutes before nine, just
before the kitchen would close. We ordered a Tuna
sandwich, which we would share and a pitcher of Bass
Ale.
Now, walking into DeFrisco's is sort of like walking
into a cross between a library and an old English Pub.
Row upon row of books — real books, mind you, not just
a facade — line the walls of one end of the place. And
the tables and couches further add to the library effect.
In fact, if you weren’t drinking beer you might very well
imagine yourself really in a library somewhere. A nice
illusion, lending a sophisticated air to what amounts to,
in reality, the systematic destruction of irreplaceable
brain cells. The books on the shelves at DeFrisco’s are
real, but most of them were probably fetched from a
"price per pound" garage sale. You probably wouldn't
want to bother reading any of them. But they do look
nice, especially from a distance.
Bass Ale is only one of the many imported beers
flowing from taps and bottles here. They do have good
ol' domestic beer, but, to steal a quote from an earlier
piece, "that would be like ordering a mountain-goat
hamburger at a seafood restaurant. . . ” well, you know
The Midnight Mafia Production of NEXT plays March 6. 7, 13and 14at9p.m. Tickets for all performances are $2.50. Call the ORT box office at 485-1946 tor
reservations.
how it goes. It is a lot cheaper to drink American beer
(keep American dollars in America), but since we had a
rich uncle footing the bill, not to mention a cultured
appreciation for the superior beers of Europe, we were
able to hold the Americans at bay the whole night long.
The waitress brought the sandwich — not much to be
said for it, except that it definitely wasn't worth the $2.95
price tag that came with it. Not that we expected
anything special from a pub’s "kitchen", but it would
have been nice to get something more than this dull fish
on white bread. Still, it served the useful function of
absorbing beer, and so we were happy to have it.
Defrisco’s had more European beers than we had
capacity to handle them. At $4.50 a pitcher for draught
and $1.60 a bottle otherwise, our illusory limitless
supply of money soon reached its limit. And just in time,
for it was ten minutes ‘till midnight when the last of our
bottles clanged empty, and we stumbled up the stairs to
the ORT.
Now, lest the reader think this writer was “drunk
beyond all comprehension,’’ and thus unable to
accurately review the ensuing theatre production, let
me first admit to a slight “literary exaggeration” in the
account of DeFrisco’s. We had put a few down, it is
entirely true; but with a view towards the play
assignment I had moderated my intake so that, by the
time the play started, I was reasonably “with it" — at
least, no more under the covers than the typical Mid
night Mafia play-goer. And besides, half the people in
the audience had been in DeFrisco’s beforehand, so
this writer's view was at least "typically slanted.”
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